The Bliss of Rain

our soaked front porch, with the squirrel food on top of the pillar

I love rain.  The more, the better.  Great torrents, sluicing down out of a gray sky, are deeply satisfying to me (not talking floods and mudslides here, naturally).  I never made any complaint about gearing up in boots, raincoat, and hat to trundle out to the bus stop and then from the corner downtown, along the street to the office.  Thunderstorms compel me to take up position on the front porch to glory in the displays.  I recently read that in Seattle, to the despair of many residents, precipitation-less days can be weeks apart.  I’m envious.  Dark, dripping days are my favorites.  My neighbor, who studies astrology, says it’s because I was born with most of the planets on the night side of my chart.  I suppose it’s as good an explanation as any for my vampirish inclinations toward overcast.  When it’s warm enough, I have no greater pleasure than to sit under cover outside and revel in the sight and sound of a downpour.  Our motorhome grants the perfect opportunity for such a sensual experience.  I’m delighted to listen for hours to the patter on the roof; to me, it’s soothing beyond description.  The scents of the drenched woods are intoxicating. 

Today is a rare, completely sunless day in Cleveland.  It’s been gloomy since I first glanced outside, an hour or so after dawn.  Now, as I write in the late afternoon, it’s become even darker.  To me, it’s a perfect time to light candles and turn on the gas fireplace for a couple hours.  The mystical neighbor mentioned above speculates that perhaps I yearn for a previous incarnation when candles and fireplaces were the only sources of light (Outlander, anyone?).  Whether or not I had a previous existence in a pre-electricity era, I do indeed enjoy the coziness of the glow of the fire on a wet, chilly day.  It’s a reminder that I can choose to be outside, witnessing Nature in what we call “inclement” mode, or I can sit indoors, comfortable and dry, with the animals curled up around me.  I went out to leave food for the squirrels and saw that almost the entire floor of our porch was soaked, which means that the wind is coming out of the north-northeast, which doesn’t happen often around here.  As the squirrels’ normal dining area was awash, I placed their nut mixture up on the half pillar, which was a bit drier.  I doubt they’ll come to eat until the rain moves off, however.  A few birds were still circling the feeders; evidently, they’re a bit hardier than the squirrels. 

I learned early on that applauding rain and disliking bright, sunny days was something to keep to myself.  Everybody loves the sun, right?  I can take it in small doses, on mild days, can even turn my face up and bask in the spring, but trooping to the beach in the dazzle of 85-degree days….not for me.  Unless, of course, I can find some deep shade.  Most people are thrilled to see the sun emerge after a storm, be it rain or snow.  Not me.  And as for snow, which I enjoy at least as much as rain, the glare from the sun glinting off fresh powder seems to me to be incongruous; if it’s cold, it should be dark, as well.

When I was exhibiting at art shows, we all prayed for bright days, of course, because only the most intrepid souls ventured out when the skies opened up.  I was put in the position of wanting clear weather for the sake of business, but nevertheless not being sorry if a shower moved through.  Even during cloudbursts, I’d sit in my tent, with tarps thrown over my display tables, having a great time as rivulets slid down the edges of the rain flaps and miniature ponds filled the awnings.  What my fellow artisans took to be unflagging optimism in the face of such storms was just my unspoken delight in them.  In our motorhome, we’ve often been an island in a surrounding lake of rain water, or been the divider in flowing streams of run-off.  My attitude?  Hey, it was fun while it lasted.  Is there any more rain in the forecast?

14 thoughts on “The Bliss of Rain

  1. Summer Storm

    In the heavy stillness before a storm
    Cicada drone
    Dark clouds tower overhead
    Thunder rumbles
    In the distance
    The sun still shines
    Children’s voices carry in the suddenly still air
    A summer storm is coming

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Summer Storm

    In the heavy stillness before a storm
    Cicada drone
    Dark clouds tower overhead
    Thunder rumbles
    In the distance
    The sun still shines
    Children’s voices carry in the suddenly still air
    A summer storm is coming

    Flies bite
    A screen door
    Echoes down the street
    The wind chimes begin to sing
    Leaves dance
    Silver then green
    People gather on their porches to watch lightning stalk across the fields
    The fearful sit in pantries
    And pray
    Thunder cracks
    And the rains come

    Winds blow
    Thunder, lightning
    Crash and flash
    The rain pours down
    Sky grown dark as night
    Flashes lighter than day
    The whole world feels charged with enormous energy
    The storm is a living thing
    But over there
    The sky lightens

    The rain slows to drizzle
    Then stops
    The winds die down
    Thunder still grumbles
    But quieter
    And far away
    A bird sings
    Hesitant at first
    Then in chorus
    The sun peeks out from behind the clouds
    The trees are bright against the still-dark sky
    Flowers glow with out their coat of dust
    And children run out to splash in puddles
    And look for rainbows

    Liked by 1 person

  3. rosemarie’s poetry and denise’s ineffable yearnings transport one to a metaphysical moment of hypaethral connectivity, despite being perched in front of a dreary, banausic computer.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. It’s rather refreshing to see that ‘some’ people still have proper command of the English language! What a delight! As for rainy days. I, too, thoroughly enjoy the rhythmic sound of the rain as it pelts down on the roof,& off the windows.
    When I was a kid ( in the Jurassic period, mind you! ), I would sit out on the porch,& just revel in the storm. Like you said. It’s rather melodic to listen to! I used to fall asleep to the sound of a good, pounding rain.
    I’d much rather have rain than snow. I can deal with the cold temperatures, but the snow is a different thing. At least I don’t have to scrape ‘rain’ off of my car, or shovel it. I am, truly, like the song ‘Rainy Day People’!


  5. You’d have made a proper letter carrier. Nothing like walking 13 miles in a southwest Florida monsoon trying to keep a satchel that is tugging heavier on your shoulder with each soggy step, from filling with liquid crystals and turning mail into mush. It always made me giggle like a child. Now I know why you and Jeanie are so closely linked. A marine biologist and a water worshipper are a match made in the heavens. Have you studied the work of Dr. Gerald Pollack? He has a fascinating book about the fourth phase of water, a liquid crystalline gel phase. YouTube one of his talks. There’s also a whole community of folks who are structuring water and I have read some books on the subject. One I loved is Dancing With Water: the new science of water by MJ Pangman. She’s a cool lady who has an interesting site online Dancing With Water.
    There’s nothing quite like that sound of water on roofs either. You’d love being inside the Yurt and hearing it crank up the volume.
    I really enjoyed this moist adventure in all it’s liquid detail.
    On a side note…Catherine was getting up in the middle of the night during the past year and streaming that series Outlander. ( Hughesnet gives you free gigabytes from 2am till dawn). She misses her Turner Classic Movie channel. So she purchases DVD’s of her favorites and gets me to watch with her occasionally. I wasn’t a TV or movie participant during our Comcast years in SWFLA. I think she lived a previous life on the British isles because she recently had me watch Downton Abbey with her and believe it or not… last night she plugged in a dvd for me to watch before I drifted off to the land of Nod. Well now I’m in for a tour of ancient Scotland and riding horseback with Jamie all night in the rain. Outlander indeed. Makes me want to touch a stone and leave this war torn land for a peaceful rainforest thatched hut and hide out for a good long while.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. do come to mindoro island then, utejack and denise. stay w/ us and i will submerge you and yours into an elysium of marine waters that will be erumpently welcoming to to your water-borne predispositions

      Liked by 1 person

        1. there is no substance more “heavenly”, denise, nor elutriating and mysterious than that magical elixir comprised of those 2 gas atoms, hydrogen and oxygen, dancing in molecular adhesion to each other, no matter in what guise… marine, lacustrine, riverine, or tidally brackish… w/out which life as we know it could have evolved. mindoro island is wholly circumscribed by water’s life-giving elements.

          Liked by 1 person

    2. I will indeed check out Dancing with Water—sounds fascinating.

      As for the yurt, my husband and I see them at many of the state parks where we stay. I’m sure experiencing rain under cover of a yurt is similar to that of being in a tent during a downpour, which I’ve done all my life. Truly enthralling!

      I’m working my way through the Outlander novels; haven’t yet seen the series. My husband and I are both devoted Downton Abbey fans. I’d love to see Highclere Castle on my next trip to England!


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